


And We'll All Float On Okay

by SensationalSunburst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother Feels, Darcy Lewis Is a Good Bro, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Team Feels, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 04:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14866769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSunburst/pseuds/SensationalSunburst
Summary: “Okay,” Tony muttered, “Okay, Point Break, what are you building, huh? Where are your plans? What are you buil-”Tony sat back and removed his glasses.“How many?”“He’s completed three so far,” Friday said and Tony finally recognized the edge in her tone as sympathy.





	And We'll All Float On Okay

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Float On by Modest Mouse.

“Friday, what is this? What are these charges? Why am I buying so much… lumber? Seriously? That is a _lot_ of oak.” Tony glanced up over the top of his glasses at the ceiling, a frown twisting his lips. The music was muted now, Friday's subtle attempt to encourage him to go sleep, and the only lights on in the workshop were dim and warm above the main workbench.

“Thor put in the purchase order, Boss.” Friday said, but there was a tone to her voice that made him pause.

“It was all delivered to the tower?”

“Some of it,” Friday said, and a schematic of the unused workshops on the lower floors shimmered to life in front of Tony’s budget figures. One of the larger workshops was highlighted, with Thor’s thunderbolt marker blinking in the center. “The vast majority is in climate controlled storage, awaiting his request to have it delivered.”

Tony glanced at the clock and frowned at the half-past-way-too-fucking-late numbers shining an angry red. The others were in their rooms, hopefully fast asleep. Hopefully not kept awake like he was, chased from his dreams by nightmares of ash and blood.

“Give me a feed.” Because it was far too late and this was far too unusual to ignore. Tony couldn’t fault Thor for having a hobby, but the timing was too suspicious. Thanos was gone, yes, and most of those had been taken, restored, but Asgard was still gone; and so was his brother.

“Yes, Boss.” Friday said, and replaced the schematic with a live feed.

“What the _fuck_?” Tony whispered to himself, leaning forward to squint at the image.

Thor was in the center of the undecorated, spartan workshop, barefoot and dressed in a ratty tanktop and jeans, absolutely covered in sawdust. Scattered around him were woodworking and carpentry tools and stacks of precisely cut wood laid up in neat, labeled piles. Tony couldn’t read the language on the labels, but recognized it from the letters Thor occasionally read at the shared kitchen’s table. The far corner of the room was piled high with wood stain, paint and conditioners, some visibly empty.

But it was Thor, hand sanding the bow of a long, narrow boat in calm, even strokes that caught Tony’s attention. His face was devoid of expression, the room somber and silent besides the rythmic sound of sanding.

“Okay,” Tony muttered, “Okay, Point Break, what are you building, huh? Where are your blueprints? What are you buil--”

Tony sat back and removed his glasses.

“How many?”

“He’s completed three so far,” Friday said and Tony finally recognized her tone from earlier as sympathy.

-

Thor doesn’t smile like he used to, Darcy thought.

They were gathered in the Tower for Sunday Brunch, even though nobody would acknowledge that it was definitely a _Thing_. Thor was tucked in a corner, watching Sam and Clint’s half-hearted bickering without even a shadow of his usual grin. Maybe it was the new haircut, the strange shave that she hadn’t really gotten a chance to ask him about that made him look more severe. Older than she remembered. Or maybe it was the whole… one eye thing. Which again, she hadn’t really gotten a chance to ask him about.

They hadn’t really had much time to chat. The last few months had been a lightspeed, breakneck sprint of fear and sorrow and then suddenly the kind of muted, sepia celebration that she’d only seen once.

Darcy’s grandmother had passed away a less than week before her first nephew was born, leaving her family in the sickening vertigo caused by the constant yo-yo between the celebration of new life and the sharp void of loss. It was like that now, she thought; a period of near normalcy followed a heavy bottomed sense of grief. Worse, because as far as she knew, almost everyone had somehow, magically, come back to life. _Almost_ everyone.(She was fuzzy on the details, but when someone looked like they all _looked_ when they thought nobody was there? Well. She wasn’t really eager to ask.)

Darcy stood, kicking back her chair, skin crawling with an anxiety she couldn’t name and padded around the kitchen island to lift Thor’s massive arm and tuck herself against his side. He, as always, allowed it and sent a small smile down at her.

“Good morning, Darcy.” He greeted, sipping from his Thor sized mug.  She beamed up at him, hoping to spread the easy Sunday morning vibe when she caught a strange scent on his flannel.

“Morning, Big Guy! Huh. Weird. You smell like… you smell like my grandpa’s old work shack.” She said, and he huffed a muted laugh.

“Truly? Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“Yeah,” She said, “It’s… Oh! Sawdust? My grandpa was a carpenter.”

Thor hummed, the sound of which rumbled through his chest and into Darcy’s before he pecked the top of her head, “Perhaps it would be best if I took a shower then. Jane shall be along shortly, please, do me a favor and protect her coffee from Clint and Tony.”

He gently disengaged, nudging Jane’s Thor themed coffee mug in her direction with a gentle nudge of his finger before slipping unnoticed from the kitchen.

-

“Ok, but where is he hiding them?” Tony asked, again watching as Thor slowly built another barge stories below him. He looked hollowed out tonight, more so than he usually did during his late night building sessions, dark circles and red eyes evident even from the distance of the camera.

“He ships them to a warehouse in Norway.” Friday said, presenting a map with the location pinned. The same location, Tony knew, where a sizable lump of Asgardian refugees had settled.

“Well _damn_ , Thor.”

-

Steve spent a week ignoring the glances Thor was sending his way, noting with a strange, unwelcome dread that it only seemed to happen when he was sketching. There was something making the king hesitate, and Steve would have ignored it until Thor was ready, except he couldn’t help but zero in on the barely noticeable tapping of the Asgardian's fingers against his thigh were Mjolnir used to rest. The display of anxiety from the usually solid Thor meant that Steve was reaching out before he realized it.

“Thor, how are you? What can I do for you?” Steve asked, setting down his sketchpad and twisting to sit openly on the couch. Dinner wouldn’t be ready yet for another few hours, but judging by the smells coming from the kitchen, Bruce was putting in serious effort.

“Steve,” Thor said, settling on the opposite end of the couch. He drew one leg up in front of him, wrapping his arm around his knee. “I am well, thank you. I-”

Steve was struck at how unusual his hesitance was, how his posture seemed enough to make even the God of Thunder look small. Even when he’d been apologizing after the battle, attempting to claim responsibility for their failure to stop Thanos the first time, he’d been direct. Visibly shaken, worn and cracked, but direct.

“I would ask a great favor of you, but know you will not offend me if you choose to refuse.” Thor said, and Steve frowned, shaking his head.

“Anything you need. What is it?”

“I’d like to commision portraits of the lost,” He began, and Steve felt himself snap to attention. “On Asgard, it was common for those of high rank or deserving of honor to leave our realm for the halls of Valhalla via funeral barge. Their bodies were placed in ships, piled high with gifts and set alight before they were set adrift in the Void.”

“I-” Thor paused, eyes growing bright despite the even expression on his face, “There are no bodies for the barges, you see. So I would use portraits instead, so that their souls may still find their way to Valhalla, if they have not already. However I fear the only references I can provide are my memories.”

“Of course,” Steve breathed, reaching out to set his hand atop Thor’s knee, “Of course I will. I’m honored.”

Thor’s shoulders dropped and he heaved a sigh as he looked up from his hands to smile at Steve. “The last thing I would ask would be if you could consider creating one of Loki as well. I understand that he did great harm to this realm, and if you are uncomfortable, please do not feel pressured but-”

“Thor,” Steve interrupted, “Thor, of course I will. He was your brother.”

“Steven Rogers, you do me a great service and honor, thank you.” Thor bowed his head briefly, and Steve took up his sketchpad.

“Who do you want to start with?”

“Heimdall,” Thor said after a moment, “Gatekeeper of Asgard.”

-

It was storming in New York, well and truly storming. Lightning danced along the tops of skyscrapers, thunder slammed through the streets and echoed down alleyways with an accompaniment of waves and waves of spring rain.

Darcy had abandoned her studies to watch the storm, curled up in the shared living room in the window seat that Tony had built especially for her after she'd made it clear that she'd like to stay in New York.

( “Come visit, ok?” Jane had sniffled into her shoulder.

“Babycakes, I changed my major for you, of course I'm going to come visit.” Darcy said, hugging her back just as fiercely. “NYU isn't the boss of me, they're just gonna, you know, teach me stuff. And take Tony's money. Teach and take.”

“Just do me a favor, ok?” Jane pulled back to reach up for Darcy's cheeks, “Keep an eye on Thor. I, uh, I don't think he's doing as well as he'd have us think.”

“Sure thing, boss lady.”)

“Friday? When is Thor supposed to be back?” She yawned.

“Thor returned to the tower at 5:46PM.”

Darcy glanced at her phone and frowned, it was 9:33PM and she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him all day. Usually, he greeted them all warmly; cheered after time spent among his people.

“Where is he?”

“Thor is on the terrace.” Friday said, and Darcy frowned at the thread of worry in the A.I.’s voice. She stood, striding to the grand glass doors that lead to the terrace and pressed her face against the glass to see if she could see him. For a moment, all she saw was darkness, until lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating Thor’s hulking profile settled in the center of the garden. She snatched an umbrella from the vase by the door and stepped out into the storm.

“Thor?” She called, stepping into his view from the side. “Thor, are you ok?”

“Aye,” Thor responded, but his gaze remained on the sky, eyes tracing the lighting still crackling overhead.

“Don't know if you've noticed, big guy, but it's storming? Wanna come inside and get some cocoa with me?” She settled next to him, swallowing her grimace as her sweatpants immediately soaked through and tilted the umbrella over his head. He didn't seem to notice.

“Soon, perhaps. I confess I am... unsettled; the rain has always calmed me-” Thor paused as another lightning bolt struck the empire State building in the distance,  “As children, mother would tell us- Loki and myself, to allow the rain to wash away our foul moods. I suppose I was curious to see if it still worked.”

Darcy's mouth worked, but she could think of nothing to say, stunned by the uneven cadence of his voice and the shake to it, audible even over the crash of thunder. Instead, she collapsed the umbrella and leaned heavily against Thor’s arm, blinking harshly as the rain blew sideways into her face.

“My mother was filled with wisdom,” Thor said, seemingly ignorant of the renewed onslaught of water, “I only now realize how severely I squandered her kindness when I ignored it. I can only remember a scant handful of times that I heeded her warnings.” He tilted his head away from the sky, staring straight over the darkened cityscape, “I was so foolish.”

“Nobody listens to their parents all the time,” Darcy huddled closer as a particularly loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the concrete bench they sat upon, “We wouldn’t be the people we are today if we hadn't learned some things the hard way.”

“Aye,” Thor said. At last, he moved, lifting his arm with the stiffness of one that had been still for too long to drop it around her shoulders, immediately chasing away the chill.

“She sounds like she was one heck of a woman.” Darcy said, “Wanna tell me some stories over a cup of cocoa?”

Thor looked down at her and tilted his lips in what could have been a smile, “Extra whip.”

“Of course! Who do you take me for, an amateur?” She made a show of pulling him to his feet and made no mention of the thick red rims around his eyes.

-

Clint never thought he'd get to use flaming arrows again. They were far too flashy for stealth missions, hell, even for regular combat. And under _any_ other circumstance they'd be fun. But here, on a freezing beach in the middle of crowd of weeping Asgardian refugees, they were the worst thing he'd ever drawn.

But he would do this for them. For the community that had welcomed a Quinjet full of strangers with smiles and food and drink and tales of their lost. For the little girl who showed them the barge that was meant for her father.

(“The king built it himself!” She’d boasted, “They were the very best of friends.”)

He'd do it for the people who had filled hand made funeral barges with stacks and stacks of portraits, some expertly done and some clearly crafted by loving novices.

Clint would do this for Thor, who stood beside him, a flaming arrow of his own notched in a bow that looked almost comically small in his hands. Thor, whose exhausted eyes were red and shiny but dry as he took aim at the boat floating gently into the distance, barring his brother's portrait because he couldn't find his body.

For Thor, who just days ago had gathered them all together on an otherwise uneventful Sunday morning and asked if they would honor him with their presence at the funeral of his world.

Thor said something, a short, single word that, while Clint didn't exactly understand, he knew instinctively to mean 'fire.’ He, Thor and the countless others lined up beside them, still and silent, loosed their arrows simultaneously, watching as they sailed across the water, their reflections dancing across the darkened waves before the barges they targeted burst into flames.

The barges were built well from solid wood, and despite being piled high with letters and flowers and in some cases, weapons, Clint knew they would likely burn all night. After double checking that the boats were all alight, Clint lowered his bow and stepped back.

“Come.” Thor rumbled, handing off his bow. “Let us return.”

“You don't want to stay?”

“I will leave them to grieve in peace, my presence as King dictates certain traditions be observed. I would see them mourn as they wish and leave old traditions to the old world.” Thor said.

Clint nodded and placed his hand up and on Thor’s shoulder. He was utterly unsurprised to feel it tremble beneath his palm.

They were getting settled in the Quinjet when Friday spoke up, startling them all enough to jerk. “Boss, Santa's Little Helper has detected a positive hit.”

“ _When?_  Where! What's the match on that.” Tony snapped.

“One minute and forty seven seconds ago, uploading coordinates to the navigation display. 99.9% match due to distance to the event.”

Tony all but leapt for the pilot's seat.  “Buckle up kids, we got a ghost to catch.”

-

They ended up close to the village. Darcy spent the entire ride pressed back against her seat, eyes closed and her hand clasped tightly in Natasha’s in an attempt to draw strength from her unflinching attitude. Natasha seemed immune to the breakneck speed, the sudden drop in altitude. She didn’t even appear phased as Tony all but punched the door release and shoved Thor out of the plane. The others scrambled to follow, confused and alarmed by Tony’s silence until they spotted the figure illuminated by the Quinjet’s floodlights.

He had his back turned, seated on a boulder overlooking what appeared to be a cliff. But the black hair, tousled gently by the wind coming up off the water and the green ensemble left no uncertainty to the stranger’s identity.

“Loki?” Thor's voice did not shake, but Darcy could see the tremble in his hands as he all but fell down the Quinjet’s ramp.

Loki spun, standing from the rock in a fluid movement, mouth open. He started to speak, but stopped, shaking his head as if he could toss the thought from him. Darcy remembered Loki,  remembered the footage of the villain who’d wrecked New York, who’d killed Phil. She remembered Thor’s attempt to explain his brother’s actions and the love that soaked his words. But the man before them now wasn’t anything like she imagined him to be.

“ _I_ made it to _Valhalla?_ ” Loki stepped forward, no trace of his usual arrogant demeanor present as he searched Thor’s face. He was visibly shocked, eyes wide and gleaming as he stepped forward to grip Thor’s upper arms. “Thor, you fool, you absolute _idiot,_ what are you doing here? You were meant to live. Did you defeat Thanos?”

“Thanos is defeated; dead. His work has been undone, I know not how, but you _are not dead.”_ Thor said, mirroring Loki's grip.

“I most certainly am.” Loki retorted, but there was no heat to his voice as he reached forward to drag Thor's forehead against his own. “I know the taste of false death, brother. This was not it. And if I am dead and you are here, it means that we are in Valhalla. Forgive me for being underwhelmed, I have seen no golden halls.”

“Loki,” Thor said, “ _Loki_. My brother, you live. You perished, yes, but the work of Stark and others have returned you to me. You live.”

Loki shook his head, beginning to lean back but Thor held fast, as if his grip were the only thing keeping Loki there. Above them, the moon was quickly being overtaken by heavy thunderclouds, heavy with rain and already sparking with frantic lightning. They undulated in great waves, rolling forth from the sea as if to answer the siren call of Thor’s emotion.  “I swear it, Loki! I swear on… on to the whole of lost Asgard. I saw you...You died. You fell, Loki, and it was no trick. I prayed to the Norns that it was, but it _wasn't_. You were gone. You saved me; you _left_ me, but you're back...here... on Midgard. You are here. It is alright...”

Even from a distance, Darcy could see Loki’s face falling, the grief and blatant fondness fading into confusion. Thor's great shoulders were shaking, his head bowed and finally Loki looked over his brother’s shoulder to the group collected behind him and the Quinjet idling in the distance. Loki’s blinked, bewilderment dawning on his face as he took in the small backlit crowd. But before he could speak his attention was brought back to his brother as Thor began to weep and the sky opened up above them, drowning Thor's words behind pounding rain.

Bruce’s hand on her shoulder turned her away from the scene as Loki pulled his brother in, ushering her and the rest of the group back inside the Quinjet.

“We can’t leave them.” Darcy said, bucking in.

“We won’t.” Tony said, “We’re just gonna… give them a second. Fuck that’s _another_ rushed renovation, Friday will get you get me the specs for- yeah, yeah perfect.”

-

“And these are his preference?”

“You betcha.”

“Are these not for children?”

“Hey,” Darcy said, “Don’t knock em’ till you try em’ judgy McJudgeface.”

“Very well,” Loki sighed, hefting the basket onto the belt, “Poptarts it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because fuck canon that's why.  
> Thor deserves good things and for people to recognize that, if Asgardians live for thousands of years, and the entirety of Thor's direct involvement the MCU takes place over the course of what, a few years, then that poor kid is having the WORST weekend of his entire life.


End file.
